


Cannonball

by Trundia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, M/M, Panic Attacks, Recreational Drug Use, Stilinski Family Feels, kidnapped!stiles, mentions of casual Stiles/Malia, stiles and derek are under 18
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 06:06:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2681903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trundia/pseuds/Trundia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'll open his eyes and his mother will standing in the doorway, waiting for him with crossed arms. The cop rests her hands on his arm. He opens his eyes. His mother isn't there.</p><p>------</p><p>Or the sort of Finding Carter AU where Stiles was kidnapped as a child and finally found by his father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cannonball

**Author's Note:**

> Rating and tags are subject to change. Currently WIP.

Stiles eyes are closed tight, his fists clenched at his sides, body shaking.The policewoman across from him is speaking again. She's saying words like "kidnapped" and "missing" and "not your real mom."

He doesn't believe it. He cannot believe it. They will realize they've made a mistake. They will call his mom. She will pick him up and they will laugh about this in the morning. _"Can you believe they thought you kidnapped me? Seriously, the cops in this town are a joke."_ She'll punish him, eventually, for sneaking out and getting drunk with his friends, but at least he'll be home. He'll open his eyes and his mother will standing in the doorway, waiting for him with crossed arms.

The cop rests her hands on his arm.

He opens his eyes. His mother isn't there.

He doesn't look at the cop, but she keeps talking. "Are you okay? We're calling your dad, he's a few towns over, so he should be here soon."

No.

He doesn't have a dad. "I want my mom." He sounds like a child, he knows, but it's true. The cop sighs, still holding onto his arm. Her eyes are sympathetic. Stiles wants to throw up.

"Sweetie, Lois Fisher is not your mother." She's lying. She has to be lying because then what's the alternative? His mom's not his mom and he's not who he thinks he is?

She's lying. "You're wrong. You're lying." The menial buzz of alcohol has worn off. He's dealing with shit completely sober. "I want my mom." The cop lets go of his arm.

He hopes she's given up on this joke. It wasn't funny an hour ago when they wouldn't let him go and it's not funny now. She sighs, deep like she's the one being attacked. "How 'bout a soda?" He nods.

He wants her to leave. They took his phone, for his "safety," but he saw the cop put in a desk drawer. He thinks he can grab it and call his mom before she comes back. But when he looks over to the desk, a cop is sitting at it, eating a freaking donut like it's the key to happiness. He doesn't look like he'll be going anywhere for awhile. Fucking cop being a fucking stereotype.

His body is still twitching. It knows that this is fucked up. He's itching to get back home. Sleep in his bed. Text his friends about what a bummer being arrested is.

God, _go to school._ He'd probably kill someone to take a fucking test.

He sees the police lady turn the corner, a soda of some kind in hand. Before she reaches Stiles, though, she stops. Someone is yelling. Practically screaming because he wants to see his kid. He wants to see Stiles. "You tell me that you found my son, but you won't let me see him?!" He sounds a lot like his friend Malia's dad. Both voices command respect, as if their age and paternal status matter. But Mr. Tate is the only dad he's ever met, so he doesn't have much to compare it to. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"Mr. Stilinski, please. He's very fragile right now. You have to treat him carefully." She means no more yelling.

To be honest, this Stilinski guy has got the right idea.

Stiles wants to yell, too.

And then it hits him. Stiles Stilinski. His mother- Lois Fisher is his mother - had told him that she used to call him "smiles" until he decided that was too embarrassing and changed it to Stiles almost immediately in fourth grade. His real name, which apparently isn't actually his real name, is Thomas.

It sounded plausible at the time.He'd never thought to question it.

"I'd stop yelling if you let me see my son!" Stiles smiled blandly. This is a man Stiles can relate to- no pun intended. _I'll stop crying once you give me Iron Man back. I'll stop smoking when you admit you're wrong. I'll quit pouting if you let me stay home today._

The policewoman from before is leading the man to Stiles, slowly, trying not to frighten him. As if he's a baby deer. "Szczepan, this is your father, John Stilinski." He briefly remembers her telling him about his real name. She sounded like she didn't know how it was pronounced either. Szczepan Stilinski. Did they hate him?

Mr. Stilinski isn't much taller than most men, but he seems larger. Like a dad. All dad's look tall to him, even when they're short. His eyes are heavy with pain and body looks worn. He's crying and pulls Stiles into the tightest hug he's ever had. His arms are tight at his sides because he doesn't know how to respond. This man is not his father. He doesn't have a father.

But It's like a spark inside him. The way this man smells is familiar, like the way you'd say "it smells like a doctor's office." He smells like a dad.

\------

Mr. Stilinski- _"You could call me dad. Or John. Whichever you want."_  - drives him back to his house, after the police agreed to let him take a few things home. Apparently his house is now a crime scene or something, so he can't take everything. He needs socks and underwear and pictures and his fucking toothbrush.

Part (most) of Stiles wants his mom to be there. So that she can tell John that it's a mistake. A terrible misunderstanding and that she's sorry about his kid, but Stiles is hers. She's not there, though, when he opens the door.

His mother has left him.

There are cops already there, searching through his mom's stuff like she's a criminal. They're trying to figure out where she might have gone.

Stiles knows they won't find her.

John asks if he wants help packing his stuff. No, he doesn't want help. No, he doesn't want to pack. So, John waits in the living room. He'd be surprised if John wasn't snooping through every nook and cranny of the house, looking for clues that the police might miss.

Looking at his room, it feels like something is being stolen from him. He fought mom for the color of his walls, dark blue instead of light green, and remembers them spending nearly an hour putting together the desk from IKEA. He grabs his backpack and dumps out all the school stuff- he obviously won't be staying at his school- and starts throwing clothes inside. Clothes his _mom_ bought him.

There's a picture of them sitting on the desk from when he was eight. It was Mother's Day and he'd tried to make her breakfast in bed (which failed) and tried to help her clean the house (which is how he accidentally vacuumed a mouse). She appreciated the attempts and wasn't even mad that he broke the vacuum and ruined a pan. They ended up seeing a movie and playing in the park. She asked a stranger to take their picture because she said it was the best day of her life.

Well, that and Stiles being born. But now he thinks she was probably lying about that.

"Hey, Szczepan, you ready to go?" John knocks on his door, but Stiles still can't connect himself with the name. He hadn't realized that he was crying until he was knocked out of his headspace. He wiped his eyes with a sleeve quickly. "Don't worry about a toothbrush, we can pick one up on the way back."

"Yeah, alright, just a second." He shoves more clothes into the bag and in a split decision grabs the picture off his desk. He also decides that after finding out he's not really who he thinks he is, he deserves a smoke or two. He grabs his pillow, too, since he can't sleep without it.

When he gets downstairs, he sees mud tracks on the carpet. None of the cops have taken off their shoes. Mom usually makes him take his shoes off at the door to keep dirt from getting in. He didn't take them off this time.

Mom will be mad. Or, you know, maybe she won't. She probably won't be coming back here again. Stiles probably won't see her again.

"Ready, kiddo?" The only person to ever call him 'kiddo' was a security guard at an arcade and he got a kick to the balls. It's possible that he has a problem with authority.

"No." It's soft, but it feels loud. He doesn't want to leave.

What's that saying? All good things must come to an end.

\------

The drive to Beacon Hills is about an hour. Stiles can tell that John is frustrated because he was only an hour away. _An hour._

Stiles does actually feel bad. None of this is John's fault. He's not trying to hurt Stiles and he's not trying to ruin his life. He's just a guy who lost his son.

"You probably don't remember much about Beacon Hills, but it's pretty much the same." The small talk is the worst. From the police station to his house, John has asked him about his favorite color and his favorite movies and if he played sports or was good at math. He's sick of the inane questions. His mom never had to ask.

"My- uh- friend, Melissa, she has a boy your age. Scott. He's a good kid. You two used to play together all the time. I'm sure he could help you get situated. You know, at school?" Stiles hasn't been with John since he was still "playing" with other kids. They told him he was three when Lois Fisher- no other known aliases- stole him from the front yard.

And quite frankly, he doesn't need some "good kid" to show him around. He'll wait, patiently if he has to, for his mom to come back.

Stiles doesn't need any new friends. He has Malia and that's good enough for him. Of course she'd been picked up by her dad last night and had gotten to go home while he had his life turned upside down, so he's not sure where they stand.

"Szczepan?" Stiles is vaguely aware that John is trying to get and keep Stiles' attention.

"Sure. He'll show me around." John nods. They sit in deafening silence for a few minutes before Stiles has got to ask, "what is that- Szczepan Stilinski? Did you want me to get beat up at school?"

John laughs like it's an inside joke. "It was your grandfather's name. On your mother's side." All this time, nearly four hours with this man, and he never thought about who is biological mother might be. Or where she is. And if she wasn't at the police station to greet him with the same suffocating hug as John, then Stiles knows she must not be around.

"What happened? To my-uh-to her?"

"She died." As hurtful as it may be, it just feels to Stiles like he's been told Santa Clause isn't real. Or that his dog was "sent to live on a farm." Obviously he cares, he's not heartless, but he didn't know the woman, so it's an empty loss.

"Can I ask how?" John's fingers turn white from clutching the steering wheel too tight.

"That's a conversation for another time." For a tortuous minute, Stiles wonders if it had anything to do with him. What if his mother-Lois- had done something to his _mother_? He doesn't think his mom could do that- she wouldn't even kill spiders- but then again, he didn't think that she could have kidnapped him, and yet here he is.

Pulling himself out of his head, he notices that the car has stopped. "We're here." The car is off and John is grabbing his bags from the back. Stiles stays in the car, but he looks at the house. It's a decent size, which means John must have gotten lonely in there, but it also looks homey. "Come on, let's get you settled."

The inside of the house is worse than Stiles could have imagined. It definitely looks like someone lives there, but besides the kitchen and the couch, the rest of the house looks relatively unused. Stiles was right about one thing- John must be lonely. "Living room on the right, kitchen on the left. Bathroom down there." He points down the hall, next to the stairs. "Bedrooms upstairs."

He leads Stiles upstairs, where it's a long hall with two adjacent doors, his bedroom and a bathroom, and further down is John's bedroom. When they stop at Stiles' room, John doesn't open the door. He just looks at Stiles.

"I obviously didn't know you'd be here, so the room's not really livable. Not for you anyway." Stiles doesn't understand, but when John opens the door, he absolutely does.

It's like stepping into a time machine-the room is still decorated the way it would've been thirteen years ago. Blue walls and a white carpet. A bed that looks fit for a child-a super hero blanket and pillows, and if Stiles had to guess, sheets. There was a toy box against one wall, under shelves that adorned many action figures. There were pictures, of a three year old Stiles and a woman. Probably his mom. His biological mom.

He already has a mom.

"Jesus." He can't stop himself from speaking.

"I know it's a bit-"

"You haven't changed a thing, have you?"

"Your mother- she couldn't- and then she died and I couldn't, so I just didn't." Then silence. "Tomorrow, we can go shopping for things you'll actually want." Stiles nods because what is he supposed to say? "You need help moving in?"

"No, I can do it." Stiles hasn't been alone for almost four hours. It's nearly two a.m. and he is exhausted. He's not going to put away his stuff now-he figures if the room hasn't been touched (save for some cleaning, probably) in thirteen years, his kid clothes will still be in there.

He can't handle that right now.

"Actually, I think I'm tired. Long day and all that."

"Sure. If you don't want to sleep on Batman tonight, the couch is pretty comfortable. Blankets are in the closet." Looking at the room, he realizes that's probably a good idea.

"Yeah, I'll take the couch."

\------

He can't sleep. Of course he can't. The couch is as comfortable as a couch can be, but that's not what's really keeping him up.

Stiles cannot, and will not, believe that his mother kidnapped him. And then abandoned him thirteen years later. John had been looking for him for just as long.

Or maybe he stopped looking.

Eventually, the man would have given up. Accepted the fact that his child wasn't coming back. And his mother would never know that he did.

Stiles lets the feeling finally sink. He's _sad_. His mother is dead, his father is a functioning alcoholic, (judging by the bottles of whiskey poorly hidden behind some books) and his life would never be the same.

His mom is a liar. Of course he's known that for awhile- she lies to the mailman and the mechanic  and the plumber and her friends and his teachers. She said that she'd never do that to him. But that was probably a lie, too.

But he still misses her.

She made him drink the nasty cough syrup when he got a cold, she packed him lunches for school, she made him dinner, and she made Malia's homecoming dress when they decided to go for a joke. She was his beacon, his anchor, when his life felt like it was spinning out of control.

The drinking- what he'd gotten arrested for- was just one event in a string of indecent and irresponsible behaviors. He doesn't even know what made him do it- what's making him do it- but he doesn't think he would have been able to stop if this secret hadn't come out.

Honestly? He'd always felt like there was something missing. He could never place it, but there was a part of him that felt like there was a hole. Like he was incomplete. But he'd never, ever considered that he was kidnapped.

Not in a million years.


End file.
